Sírien Series – Crook of Her Finger
by Juliediane
Summary: A young elleth is ignored by Haldir due to a misunderstanding between them.
1. Crook of Her Finger

Sírien Series: Crook of Her Finger (1/1)

Author: Julie

Disclaimer: No money is being made at all. This is written solely for my own amusement.

A/N: I wrote this many months ago on a whim, but left it unfinished since I was not happy with it. Impulse prompted me to go back and finish it, and to stop being so picky. I have constructed the story so I can write more Sírien stories later if I get the urge, but I do not promise any. I hope you enjoy it. It is romance, so be warned. ;)

xxx

**Crook of Her Finger**

She was fed up with Haldir! Fed up! And to think that she had been fancying herself in love with him all these months!

With effort, Sírien suppressed the emotion that rose in her throat. She was certainly not going to weep, not over him, and certainly not here in front of everyone else.

Pretending to adjust the drape of her skirt, she shot a swift glance over her shoulder at the three Lórien brothers who stood together at the edge of the clearing. Tonight's festival was a yearly event much awaited by all the Elves of Lórien, but most especially by those without a mate. Many an elleth took a new lover—or her first—on this of all nights, and Sírien had hoped to do the same.

But those plans had been ruined, and she had no one but herself to blame.

The one she had chosen, Haldir, had been pointedly ignoring her ever since he'd returned from his last tour of duty three days ago, and she knew exactly why. Only yesterday her closest friend, Heri, had confessed to having inadvertently let slip to a friend of Orophin's what Sírien had said about Haldir. Or, rather, what Sírien had said about herself in reference to him . . . how she could crook her finger any time she liked and he would come running. It had been a poor choice of words that had come back to haunt her.

Unfortunately, the words had been passed along, and somewhere along the line they had no doubt been interpreted as a boast, and a shallow one too. She had to admit that it sounded like a boast, but that was truly not the way she'd meant it. She had never meant to demean him; she had just been feeling confident. She'd only meant that he had made it clear to her that when _she_ was ready, _he_ would be ready, that he had left it up to her to decide. At least that was how she'd interpreted it.

Her insides twisting with emotions, Sírien watched Haldir walk over to another elleth and make a slight, graceful bow. The elleth, Lalaith, batted her long golden lashes and said something Sírien could not hear over the voices and music. A moment later he was leading her into the dance.

"Did you see that? He's chosen Lalaith." The shocked whisper came from another of Sírien's friends, Míreth, a delicate blonde with a pointed chin and a reserved manner. "He is slighting you, Sírien."

Sírien secretly agreed that it was Haldir's way of putting her in her place. This was the first dance of the night, second in importance only to the last dance. This was his signal to her that things were not as she had presumed.

She gathered her pride around her like a mantle. "He may do as he likes," she told Míreth tightly. "It makes no difference to me. He is nothing to me."

Míreth knew Sírien too well to believe this, but she only set a comforting hand on Sírien's arm and moved off in the direction of a shy sentinel who stood a small distance away, waiting patiently for her to look at him. Sírien watched Míreth give him a quiet greeting, to which the sentinel responded with one of his rare, sweet smiles. Sírien looked away, feeling very lonely all of a sudden.

Now that she was over her initial indignation, she could admit to herself that she was hurt. It was more than her pride, it was actually her feelings that were wounded. She had flirted with Haldir for a long time now, and he had always flirted back. She had truly thought he felt something for her, something similar to what she had come to feel for him. It had only been games between them so far, yet she had believed that would change and turn into something deeper, perhaps even on this very night. Yet right now he was smiling, not at her, but at that silly empty-headed Lalaith . . .

Sírien halted the thought before it was finished. No, she must be generous. Lalaith could not help it if she was not always quick-witted or clever. To make up for it, Lalaith was exceedingly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful elleth in all of Lórien, and she was warm and sweet and caring of the feelings of others. No doubt she possessed far more virtues than Sírien did.

Steeling herself not to look at him, Sírien turned away. She must not let Haldir think that she cared, or that she was humiliated or hurt or angry. Yet a moment later a renewed wave of indignation washed over her like a cold chill. What had she said that was so very bad? She had spoken only to a small gathering of close female friends. She had said that Haldir fancied her, and that any time she was ready to take her first lover, she knew he would be there waiting. And then she had said the part about crooking her finger . . .

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, Sírien?" Arthon, another of the wardens, had come up behind her, and she knew she would be wise to accept him. Lauded for his bravery and his skill with weapons, he was handsome, popular, witty, and charming. In fact, she was a little surprised that he would ask her at all.

"You certainly may." She forced a smile, for she liked Arthon and had no wish to insult him with her lack of interest. He simply did not make her heart beat faster the way that Haldir did. Quickly, she shut off that line of thought.

Arthon led her into the cleared area where the dancing was about to start. She set her hand on his shoulder while he took her other hand and threaded their fingers together. The warmth of his skin did not thrill her the way it should have done, but she allowed no sign of this to show in her expression. Instead, she gazed cordially up at him, hoping her smile did not look as forced as it felt.

"I do not often see you in a dress," Arthon remarked as they began the first series of movements. "You look very beautiful."

For some reason the compliment threw her spirits further into a downward spiral. Despite her lovely gown, she did not feel beautiful, and for him to say this just irritated her.

"Thank you," she said flatly. "It is kind of you to notice."

Arthon's brows drew together. "Did I say something amiss?"

"No," she said quickly, horrified by her own manners. "You did not. Please forgive me. I am just in a . . . a rather odd mood at the moment."

"Ah." His eyes were far too knowing. "Well, I must see if I can cheer up a bit." He began a complicated set of steps that she had to exert herself to follow. Around and around she whirled, her feet flying to keep up with him as they wove their way among and between other couples. It was difficult to keep her mind on her feet and watch Haldir at the same time, and she lost sight of him more than once.

Arthon was a good dancer, so it took her by surprise when, near the end of the set, he stepped directly on her foot. Her thin slipper offered little protection, and the resulting pain prevented her from completing the final movement. Oddly, although he still held her hand, Arthon failed to catch her as she fell, and she landed hard on her backside in the middle of the dancers. To make matters even more humiliating, she somehow managed to collide with a familiar pair of long male legs. She did not glance up; she did not need to look to know that their owner's gaze would be cool and aloof. Her heart ached at the thought.

"Forgive me, Sírien, I am so sorry!" Arthon was exclaiming as he helped her back to her feet. "Are you injured?"

"Only my pride." Sírien smiled bravely, pretending she did not know that Haldir was watching and listening. "But I think I will have to excuse myself, if you do not mind." Without waiting for Arthon's reply, she limped away, cursing silently. She was fairly sure the back of her gown was soiled, perhaps stained by the grass. Not only that, but her hip hurt, and her right ankle and three of her toes were throbbing. Had she ever felt more miserable? She did not think so.

Seeking a quiet place where she could sit down, she rounded a huge mallorn tree and ran smack into a solid male body. Two hands reached out to steady her.

"Sírien," Haldir said, with no particular inflection in his voice.

Startled, she heard herself gasp, then quickly tried to cover her confusion by snapping, "What?" She then flushed to the roots of her hair at the churlishness of her tone.

"You are limping," he stated quietly. His gray eyes studied her with seeming detachment.

She opened and shut her mouth. What could she say that would make things better? She could think of absolutely nothing, so she merely sighed and said, "So would you be if your dance partner had stomped on your toes. I swear he did it deliberately."

"Perhaps he did," Haldir replied, "since he is now dancing with Lalaith, with whom he is in love . . . or at least in lust. Sit down," he added in a rather commanding tone.

Sírien tried to absorb the implications of his remark at the same time she evaluated her reaction to his domineering attitude. Loathe to argue with him, she settled on, "Why?" as a good general purpose response.

"So that I may examine your foot, obviously." His eyes held no amusement, yet they were not as hard as they might have been if he were truly angry with her. Perhaps this was how indifference looked. She had not seen it in his eyes before.

Too depressed to do anything but yield, Sírien looked around her for the bench she knew must be close. Spying one formed by a cooperative tree root, she took two hobbling steps toward it before Haldir lifted her and carried her over to it like an elfling. "Haldir!" she protested, feeling very foolish.

He did not sit but instead towered over her like an interrogator, his fists set on his lean hips. "You have something you wish to say to me?" One brow was arched in a rather intimidating fashion.

Perhaps he was angry after all.

She plucked nervously at her skirt. "I feel stupid in this dress," she mumbled.

"You do not look stupid."

"Thank you," she said wryly. She had suddenly forgotten how to flirt, all the small tricks she normally used on him, the things she thought he enjoyed.

Squatting down, he took her foot in his hand and pulled off the slipper. She saw him frown at the redness of her toes. "Move them," he commanded.

She did so successfully. His long fingers tested her, rotating her ankle, watching her face for any signs of pain as he completed his very thorough examination. "You see?" she said as he replaced her slipper upon her foot. "There is no true injury."

He rose silently to his feet, but he did not walk away. He simply hovered over her as though he expected her to say something.

"Please sit down," she said in a low voice.

Without a word he joined her on the bench, leaving only a small space between them while she stared down at her hands, too nervous to look at him. When she finally dared to glance up, she found his expression impossible to read.

She bit her lip. "Are you angry with me?" She kept her voice as non-committal as possible in an attempt to hide her dismay.

"I was," he admitted. "But my anger has faded."

"Haldir, I am sorry."

"I accept your apology." Yet his voice remained distant. Gone was the warmth she was so accustomed to hearing. Gone was that appealing curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes she was so used to seeing when he looked at her. Her heart sank.

"You do not look as though you accept it. You look as though you do not like me very well."

"I like you, Sírien. I just find you very young."

"Young! I am of an age with Rúmil!"

"Sometimes I find him young too," he said dryly.

"Is being young a crime?" she tried to joke.

"No," he said.

"Well, then? What are you saying, Haldir? Please be frank with me because . . . because I . . .'" Her voice breaking, she averted her face from him, mortified that she had allowed him to see how distressed she was.

She felt him take her hand and hold it lightly, resting it against his thigh. "I fear I am too old for you, that is all."

It was the last thing she had expected him to say. "Too old?" She turned to stare at him. "That is not possible."

"No?" He arched a brow.

"No," she said, and in a small voice added, "I thought you enjoyed flirting with me. You gave the impression you did."

His thumb rubbed absently against the palm of her hand. "Oh, I do. It is just the thought that you enjoy flirting with so many others that disturbs me. And that you would think me so docile and submissive that you can control me with the crook of a finger. I am no plaything, Sírien, nor do I wish for a lover who treats me like one."

She was shaking her head. "No, no, I do not think of you like that, nor do I flirt with others, at least not in the way you mean. And I don't wish to control you. Whatever you were told . . . it was an exaggeration . . . a misrepresentation of what I said. Or what I meant."

"I am listening," he replied, his gray eyes unreadable.

"I will be honest with you," she began. It was so hard to look him in the eye when she felt so guilty, so wrong, and so close to tears. "I have flirted with others, but only because I wished to . . . to learn how to do it properly." She noticed his expression seemed a bit odd, but she stumbled on, "It is like target practice, you see. You practice your archery so that when you are in a true battle, your aim will be true."

One of his dark brows shot up.

"So that when you see an Orc, you will know how to shoot him properly," she explained.

"So, using your metaphor . . . I am the Orc you wish to shoot?"

"Yes . . . no . . . I mean, yes. Metaphorically speaking, Haldir." She tightened her hold on his fingers as though to make him understand. "But I have gotten rather good at it, you see, and now some of the ellyn I flirt with are used to being treated that way, despite the fact that there is only one ellon I wish to . . . oh, I do not wish to use that word any more. It makes me sound superficial and I am not."

"Which word is that?" he inquired, looking at her oddly.

"Flirt. I am really past wanting to do that with you." Seeing his expression, she backpedaled hastily. "I mean, I still love to flirt with you but I am ready to . . . to go on to the next step, whatever that might be." She stopped, knowing her face was bright pink.

"I see," he said slowly. "And you do not wish to control me?"

"Certainly not. The idea never entered my head."

"I require more explanation, Sírien." His thumb caressed her palm, making distracting little circles on her sensitive skin. "I normally pay no heed to gossip except where it concerns you and me."

Sírien sighed. "I was with my friends, Haldir. I had three glasses of wine, and I was feeling . . . sure of you. Sure of what you wanted from me." She knew her face was flaming. "I was wrong, I know, but I did say it. I said that you would come to me whenever I crooked my finger, but I never meant it as an insult. I only meant that . . . you wished what I wished. I spoke only to friends," she reiterated miserably. "I forgot that Aerwen tends to repeat things to her sister on occasion."

"Do you still wish it?" His voice seemed softer now, more quiet and thoughtful, and perhaps more gentle.

Sírien swallowed her pride. "I do," she whispered, her voice hitching despite her efforts to control it. "More than anything. I had such hopes for tonight."

"So did I." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, right in the center of her palm. "I hoped that tonight would be the night you told me you were ready. I have wanted no other elleth for a very long time."

"You don't want Lalaith?" she murmured, peeking up at him hopefully.

"Of course not." He looked rather amused.

"She's very beautiful," she pointed out.

"Yes, she is," he agreed.

"Very desirable too, I would imagine."

He only smiled.

"You asked her to dance," Sírien added, hoping she did not sound too petty.

"To teach you a lesson," he said wryly. "But I immediately regretted it."

"You have not spoken to me since your return."

"Nor have you spoken to me. You could have come to me and explained."

Sírien shuddered with rising desire as his lips pressed her palm, lingering briefly. "I was afraid," she whispered.

"Afraid of me?" he murmured, a little huskily. "Sírien, why?"

"Afraid of what you would say. Afraid that everything I believed about us was a lie, or . . . a creation of my imagination."

He swirled the tip of his tongue over her wrist, igniting unbelievable sensations within her. "So I am not too old for you? I warn you, Sírien, I am set in my ways. I have been called stubborn, arrogant, and a few other unflattering appellations. I am also a warden, and I plan to be Marchwarden someday if that position becomes open. I have weighty responsibilities. I could be killed."

"You will not be killed," she breathed. "I will never let that happen."

He laughed softly. "You will flirt with the enemy while I shoot them?"

"Nay, I will be shooting them alongside you," she said with resolution. She saw surprise enter his eyes. "I have decided to become a warden, Haldir. It is not an impetuous decision, although it may seem so. I have been thinking about it for a long time now. You know my weapons' skills. You know my talent with knives. I intend to practice diligently, year after year, until I meet the requirements. I _will_ be a warden someday. I will fight at your side. No harm will ever befall you because I will not allow it."

He was shaking his head, but she could see the approving gleam of his eyes. "Those are noble ambitions, Sírien. I will not stop you. I have long thought your talents could be put to use in Lórien's defense. But it must be for Lórien's defense and not mine that you fight."

"You are part of Lórien," she said softly. "As am I." Turning her hand, she caught hold of his fingers and raised them to her own lips, kissing them lightly.

He slid his arm around her waist and drew her close, his hand brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek before he cupped it. "Sírien," he whispered, just before his lips covered hers.

His kiss was gentle at first, but she soon felt the underlying power hovering beneath the surface of his self-restraint. He kissed her in a way she had never dreamed he might do, as though she was the forest and he was the wind, able and capable of ripping past any and all her defenses. How long did it last? Something between a moment and an eternity, that was all she knew, for all thought ceased as long as his mouth covered hers.

Finally, he drew away, releasing a shaky breath. "Come, let us return to the dance. Our absence will be noted."

"Do you care?" she murmured, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"No, but I think it would be a good way to show our friends that we have resolved our differences. If you dance every dance with me for the rest of the night, I think that should take care of it."

"Every dance? Are you certain that is what you wish?" For him to devote himself to her exclusively in this manner made a significant statement.

He looked at her with a curious half smile. "Aye, I know my own mind. Do you?"

"I knew my own mind the moment I felt that you had turned from me. For months I have told myself that . . . " She hesitated, unsure what his reaction would be if she spoke the words.

"Told yourself what?" he prodded.

She lowered her eyes. "I told myself I was in love with you," she said, almost inaudibly. "But in these past few days I realized how true it was. I mean, I understood how . . . how devastated I would be if I had lost you."

"You have not lost me, Sírien," he said quietly. He drew her close to him once more. "I am not so easy to lose."

And that did indeed prove to be the case, as Sírien was to discover during the ensuing months of their courtship. Being hard to lose did not mean that no other problems cropped up. There were occasional clashes of wills and other situations requiring adjustment, compromise and communication. But those are other tales, best left for another day.


	2. Stranger in the Woods

Summary: Sírien's first adventure happens when she is but an elfling.

A/N: Prequel to "Crook of her Finger". Time-wise, this will probably be the earliest story in the Sírien series. It is the beginning of the tale . . . .

xxx

**Stranger in the Woods**

Silvery blonde hair braided like a real warden of Lórien, little Sírien dashed through the Golden Woods, dodging foliage and leaping over gnarled tree roots as she clutched her small wooden sword in her hand. The day was cool, the sky cloudy, with the air carrying the scent of rain. She was very, very happy.

It was the first time she had been allowed to play outside the city gates, in the woods far from her mother's eyes, and she was going to make the most of it! If only she could find her prey before the others did, the evil Orc that had sneaked into the Golden Woods! Of course, the Orc looked a lot like Rúmil unless she used her imagination . . . which she was very good at doing.

"Sírien!" hissed one of her slightly older playmates, one who had not really wanted to include the tiny elleth in their play. "You are too noisy! You crash through the forest like a wild boar!"

Sírien stuck out her tongue. "You be quiet, Malorion! You are making as much noise than I am!"

Malorion scowled and gave her a shove hard enough to knock her off her feet, so that she fell backwards to the ground and landed on her backside. Malorion sprinted ahead while Sírien scrambled angrily to her feet, but he had vanished before she could see which way he went. Then she grinned. She could track him with her ears!

None of the ellyn had really wanted to let her tag along, but she had bribed them with promises of her naneth's honey cakes; Rúmil's eyes had lit with anticipation, prompting him to persuade the others to let her join in. Malorion was the only one that Rúmil had had trouble persuading, but Rúmil had more authority among the group, given that his oldest brother was a warden, and his other brother was training to become one. Sírien did not know them, and had only seen them from a distance, but she remembered that they had looked very, very tall and unapproachable.

Fuming, she raced after Malorion, wishing she was large enough to make him pay for it. If only she had a real sword, she would use it to scare him just a bit and make him say he was sorry! So intent was she on her mission that her foot caught upon a branch. She hit the ground so hard that all the air rushed from her lungs and she could not breathe at all. Gasping for air, she took a moment to recover before again climbing to her feet.

Meanwhile, Rúmil the Orc had found a hiding place inside the hollow of a fallen, moss-covered tree nearly hidden behind long weeds. Folding up his small body, he stuffed himself inside, sending a softly murmured apology to a large black spider who was staring at him askance. "I'll fix it," he whispered, reached out to try to reattach the broken web, but the spider scurried away in disgust. Rúmil sighed and wondered how long it would take for the 'wardens' to discover him.

He did not have long to wait. They soon descended upon him—six of them, led by Malorion, who gave a victory whoop as his probing hand found Rúmil's hair.

Rúmil crawled out with a rueful grin. "How did you know I was in there?"

Malorion pointed to a tiny broken twig hanging from a branch an arm's length from his hiding place.

"Oh, I see," Rúmil said thoughtfully, making a mental note to be more careful the next time. Then he looked around. "Where is Sírien?"

"Here I am," came a determined voice.

Rúmil looked around to see his youngest and only female playmate with bits of leaves and dirt sticking from her hair and to her tunic and leggings. "What happened to you?"

"I fell," she said carelessly.

"Who's going to be the Orc now?" asked Fain excitedly.

Malorion smirked at Sírien. "It's her turn."

Several of them looked at her doubtfully. "It is too hard for her," someone said.

"It is not too hard for me!" Sírien protested huffily. "I am better than any of you! You will never catch me!"

"We will catch you before you can go twenty steps," goaded one of the others.

Sírien bunched her fists. "You will not! I will run circles around you and be home in time for dinner while you are still searching the woods for me!"

Malorion rolled his eyes and snorted; so did a few of the others.

"Give her a chance," said Rúmil, scrutinizing the little elleth. He knew they would probably catch her quickly, but he was kind-hearted and did not want her to feel left out. Besides, he wanted those honey cakes!

Pleased to have a champion, Sírien stood up straighter and eyed Rúmil, admiring the clear blue of his eyes and the authoritative way he turned his head. Perhaps he would be a real warden someday, she mused. The thought made her giddy with excitement even while it made her giggle.

The others finally agreed after someone mentioned honey cakes, and she was given the usual chance to have a head start. She took off running, concentrating on being light on her feet, leaving no broken twig or stirred leaf behind for them to follow. She purposely headed away from the city, deeper into the Golden Wood, for she was sure they would expect her to run the other way, closer to home and the safety of her family.

She ran and ran, zigzagging through the trees and underbrush until she was quite out of breath. How far had she come? She had no idea, but she was not afraid; quite the reverse. She loved the sense of freedom, far from the curtailing and watchful eyes of her parents. Perhaps she would just stay here and never go home!

It was then that she saw the young doe.

Sírien stopped and stared. It stood quivering, watching her cautiously, but it was not running away from her, even though she had been plowing straight at it. It had a beautiful white tuft on the tip of its tail and a lopsided white mark on the side of its nose. This was significant. She had dreamt of this deer, but until just now she had not known it. For years she had been dreaming of a deer with such markings, but she had not realized she would actually meet it. What a gift!

"Good afternoon," she said softly.

The doe's nose quivered as it tested her scent.

"I will not hurt you," she murmured, and held out her hand.

Slowly, the doe approached, nuzzling her hand as though it expected to find food there.

"I do have something," she whispered. She slipped her other hand into a pocket in her tunic and brought out the snack her nana had given her that morning--one half of one of the small honey cakes, wrapped in a handkerchief. "It is delicious," she assured the regal animal.

The doe sniffed it suspiciously, then lifted its head to gaze at her.

"No?" Sírien was conscious of disappointment. "You do not want it?"

The doe looked at her with its liquid brown eyes, conveying its lack of interest in the proffered treat.

Sírien sighed. "Very well then." She rewrapped her cake and slipped it back into her pocket and reached out to stroke a gentle hand along the deer's fur.

At that moment there came a loud, exultant whoop. The startled doe bounded away, and a rope flew through the air, trapping Sírien's arms at her side.

"Caught you, caught you!" crowed a familiar voice. Malorion stepped out from behind a bush, laughing gleefully at her outraged expression.

Sírien struggled to free herself from the restraining hithlain. "You scared off my deer!"

Fain laughed. "You scared her away yourself. We could hear you miles away!"

"You could not!" Sírien kicked him in the shin.

Malorion grabbed her from behind, lifting her clear off the ground, but she did not stop kicking. "What shall we do with this evil Orc?"

"Tie it up!" little Fain said, his piquant face filled with excitement. "We cannot let it escape! We will turn it over to the Marchwarden for questioning!"

"I AM the Marchwarden," Malorion bragged, although no one had ever said he was. He clamped a hand around Sírien's mouth just as she was about to protest loudly. "Come on, let's tie her to one of these trees!"

They dragged Sírien along the trail, her small body twisting futilely in an effort to get away. They were both larger and stronger than she was, but even so she managed to inflict a few kicks before they found a tree small enough to wrap the rope around.

To her annoyance, Malorion tied a strip of cloth around her mouth. "I hate the whiny sounds these little Orcs make," he said to Fain. "We must keep it quiet so it doesn't alert the others."

"What others?" Fain sounded uneasy.

"Orcs always move in packs," Malorion informed him knowledgeably. "This one is probably a scout."

"Mmmph!" Sírien said indignantly.

Her hands were bound in front of her, and the rope wrapped around the tree three times, securing her to it in such a way that there was no way she could free herself. Sírien wondered where Rúmil was, and hoped he came soon and put an end to this nonsense. She had had enough of make-believe for one day and was growing hungry.

"There." Malorion examined the knots and stood back, regarding Sírien with a gloating look. "We will use you to lure your fellow Orcs, then we will slay you all!"

Sírien would have liked to point out the illogic of his plan. How could she alert the rest of her pack if she could not call out to them?

Fain lifted his wooden sword, swirling it in the air. "Let's go tell the others!"

Malorion agreed, and the two sped off, leaving Sírien alone.

Sírien sighed. No one had warned her this was part of their play, and no one else had been tied to a tree, either. Besides, no one tied Orcs to trees, that was silly. Orcs were hunted, slain, and burned. Everyone knew that! Malorion obviously wasn't very bright, and Fain, well, he just followed along with everything Malorion said rather than thinking for himself. It did not matter though, because Rúmil would free her very shortly.

And so she waited.

xxx

The two young ellyn had gone only a short distance when Malorion clamped a hand to Fain's shoulder and brought him to a halt.

"I need to tell you my plan," Malorion said to the younger elfling who had always looked up to him. He liked being the leader, and he liked having Fain's adoration. What he didn't like was Sírien. She could run as fast as he could, even though her legs were shorter, and that bothered him. And she really had made less noise in the forest than he had, and that embarrassed him. There were other things too, little things like the fact that his own sister claimed that Sírien was smarter than he was.

"What plan?" Fain asked eagerly, as Malorion had known he would.

Malorion bent his head close to Fain's ear. "Sírien needs to be taught a lesson," he said, and explained exactly what he had in mind.

xxx

Rúmil and the others had spread out to look, but failed to find any tracks that had not been made by one of them. Disgruntled, Rúmil scrambled up a tree and soon announced the return of Fain and Malorion—with no captured Orc.

"Where is Sírien?" he demanded as soon as the two missing friends arrived. He was starting to be a little worried about her, but he did not express this to the others.

"We caught her easily," Malorion bragged. "She was heading home to her nana, as I expected. She thought to hide in her family's talan while we searched."

"She would not do that," Rúmil objected. "That is cheating."

"She did say she would be home in time for dinner," one of the others pointed out.

"We let her go," Malorion added, "when she started to cry for her nana. She is probably gulping down those honey-cakes right now!"

Rúmil's mouth watered at the thought of honey cakes, and he felt irritated with Sírien.

"She wanted us to search for her all night," Fain piped up. "So we would all get in trouble!"

Rúmil frowned at that thought. Would Sírien do that? After a few moments, he decided that if she was angry at them all, yes, she might. And then she would laugh at them all! And he did not like to be laughed at! Still, they ought to be sure that she was safely home. "We ought to check on her," he stated.

"Fain and I will do it," Malorion offered.

"You just want those honey cakes!" Rúmil protested. "We should all go!"

Malorion and Fain exchanged a glance, then Malorion gave a small shrug. Neither of them looked too pleased, so it was obvious they'd thought they'd get all the honey-cakes for themselves.

"Let's go to my talan first," Malorion said unexpectedly. "I want to show you my new bow."

"Your new BOW?" Rúmil repeated in astonishment. As far as he knew, none of them had a real bow yet. They were all too young.

All thoughts of Sírien were forgotten as they all raced off toward the city.

xxx

Meanwhile, Sírien waited, wondering what was taking so long. It was growing dark, which meant that she was missing her dinner, and she was growing rather hungry. She could not reach the honey cake in her pocket with her hands tied like this, nor could she loosen the knots. Stupid Rúmil, why did he not come?

Soon it started to rain, and though the canopy of leaves above her blocked most of the moisture, it did eventually find its way to her as the force of the rain increased. She did not mind the rain all that much, nor did she mind being wet, but she did object to being tied to the tree, and she hated being gagged like this.

Thoughts of real Orcs invaded her thoughts, and began to make her uneasy until she remembered that she was still very far from Lórien's borders, and that no Orcs would ever be allowed to creep this far into the Golden Woods. The wardens were far too vigilant, fierce and brave.

Relaxing with this reassurance, she closed her eyes and summoned up an image of her parents. They would be through the evening meal by now. Would they have noticed she was not there? Yes, of course they would, she told herself quickly. But what would they do? Would they just assume she was still out playing? Or would they think she had gone to Heri's talan to play? Heri was her closest friend, and she did frequently do that. Or perhaps they would think she had gone to watch Míreth work on her weaving. Either way, if that was what they thought, then she would not yet be missed. No one but Malorion and Fain knew where she was.

They had done this on purpose. The sudden understanding came to her in a flash, making her clench her little fists with fury. Those dirty Orcs! She would make them pay! How long did they plan to leave her here? All night? For days? Forever?

That last thought scared her. She did not want to stay here forever. She wanted to go home and be with her family again. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she immediately forced herself to stop crying. Wardens did not cry, and she was a _warden_, not an Orc!

A slight sound brought her attention snapping to alert. Another sound, and then another had her searching the surrounding area anxiously. No doubt it was only some animal, she told herself bravely, and a moment later was rewarded with the sight of the deer she had spoken to earlier.

The doe moved out of the underbrush, gazing at Sírien inquisitively. Sírien stared back imploringly.

Leisurely, it walked toward her, its lithe, compact body graceful and its large ears twitching with spattering raindrops. This beautiful beast ought to be curled up somewhere, safe from the rain, but instead she was looking at Sírien with such open curiosity that Sírien would have smiled if she could.

"Mmmph!" Sírien said softly.

The deer took a step closer and bent down to nuzzle the side of Sírien's head. It almost seemed as though it was trying to push aside the gag, but it was too tight and just not possible. The deer made another futile attempt, then lifted its head, regarding Sírien with those huge liquid brown eyes.

Sírien wished she could tell it to fetch help.

The deer looked at her for another long moment, then slowly turned away. A large droplet of rain fell on Sírien's face as the deer disappeared into the brush. To the deer, Sírien was only a stranger in the woods, not an elleth in need of rescue.

The forest grew darker, and another lone tear slipped down Sírien's cheek.

xxx

The tall, young warden had left the Fences early that morning, and had hoped to reach the city before the rain grew hard, but it was clearly not to be. He was glad to be going home, yet he would miss his comrades at the border, for they shared good times and a camaraderie that was somehow very different from the kind of interactions they enjoyed back in Caras Galadhon.

He loved his city and he worshipped Galadriel, but he felt more at home in his beloved woods, and often spent the night there when he had free time. Tonight would be such a night, for he was in no mood to walk alone in the rain, not when there was a convenient flet close at hand, one he had built himself for just such a purpose. He strode along at a swift pace, anxious to reach the comfort of the flet, with its woven roof and thick skins, not to mention a nice flask of something that would warm his insides. He would rest there until first light, then continue on.

As he neared his destination, he caught a movement in the dark. His hand flew to his sword, an automatic reflex, even as his mind took in the fact that it was only a deer. A doe, to be specific, one he easily recognized.

He knew most of the deer in this part of the wood. He knew this doe, and knew the large buck who was her mate. He also knew of the painful loss of her calf three seasons ago. The calf had been born weak, and from the moment it was born, it had refused to nurse. It was nature's way, he knew, but he had comforted the mother as best he could with soothing words and a gentle hand. The doe had accepted him with the innate trust that animals had for elfkind, and yet it had seemed to him that there existed between them an additional bond of some sort, one that ensured their paths crossed more frequently than usual.

Even so, it seemed odd to see her out in the rain like this.

His pace slowed as he turned and advanced on the animal who stood staring at him from the shadows. Reaching the beast's side, he stroked a hand along her fur and murmured a gentle greeting.

Her reaction took him by surprise. She leaped away and ran a few steps, then stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

He lifted a brow. "What is this? You wish me to follow?"

The deer only looked at him, but when he started to approach it, the deer leaped forward once more.

They continued like this for some time, until the warden began to grow concerned. Whatever it was that disturbed the doe, she was clearly unafraid to approach it, yet it was also clear there was a problem of some sort. An injured animal? Perhaps her mate had become entangled in some way.

And then the warden came to an abrupt halt, stunned by what he saw before him.

xxx

Sírien opened her eyes and saw a tall god standing before her in the gathering gloom. She had not heard his approach, and his sudden appearance nearly frightened her witless. She made a small whimpering sound as he crouched down in front of her and untied Malorion's nasty gag.

"Do not be frightened, child," the god murmured. "I will not hurt you." He threw off his hood so she could see him, then transferred his efforts to the knots that bound her to the tree.

Gaping at him, Sírien moistened her lips, staring at him with a mixture of awe and admiration. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, a magnificent figure exuding some mesmerizing quality that she could no more have identified than she could have walked on water.

"I am not frightened," she said timidly. "Did they send you to find me?"

He glanced up, yet his fingers did not cease their task. "The doe brought me here. Do you know her? She is a friend of mine."

Sírien's gaze shifted to the deer—her deer as she was beginning to call it. But suddenly she could not talk at all. She was soaked to the skin, hungry, tired, confused, and a little scared. And now she was making conversations with . . . who?

She studied her liberator. He wore warrior braids and carried the huge bow of the Galadhrim, so she decided he must be a warden--a real one. The thought was immensely comforting, and when he tossed the rope aside and gathered her into his arms, she curled her own arms around his neck with complete confidence in his goodness.

He covered her with the folds of his cloak and held her close to his warm body, cradling her in the curve of his arm. "You've been crying, little one."

She burrowed her nose in his hair, which smelled even more delicious than the surrounding forest. "I have not," she lied, wondering how he knew. "Wardens don't cry."

He drew back to look at her, holding her easily with one arm while he lifted her chin with one finger. "Ah, yes, I see by your braids you are a warden. What is your name, young warden?"

"I am Sírien," she told him proudly. "I am a warden of Lórien just like you."

He smiled faintly, but his face was stern. "Who did this to you, Sírien? Who tied you to the tree and left you?"

"Orcs," she confided.

His brows snapped together. "Orcs?" He sounded like he didn't believe her. Then, surprisingly, he said, "Who told you that wardens don't cry?"

She looked at him in puzzlement, unable to envision him crying over anything. "Do they?" she asked doubtfully.

"Aye, sometimes they do when they see the death or wounding of a dearly loved friend. Sometimes it is only on the inside, where others cannot see, but it is still a kind of crying."

"Oh." Sírien thought this over, and was about to comment further when she noticed the deer was gone. "Where did she go?"

"Her task is done," said her rescuer calmly. "And mine begins. I am going to take you home." He glanced down at the rope, then bent and picked it up, shaking it as he did, so that it coiled itself neatly into his hand as all proper ropes should do. Holding her close, he hooked it onto his belt, and then reached up and pulled up his hood, adjusting it so that it sheltered them both.

Shielded by his cloak and feeling very safe, Sírien snuggled close to him, her head on his shoulder. He felt different from her ada, though she was not sure why, and his walk was very smooth, so that they seemed to be floating along the ground even though he walked so quickly.

Suddenly, she knew who he was.

She lifted her head. "You are Rúmil's brother!"

She heard his soft chuckle. "And you are one of my brother's playmates? Aye, so I thought." He strode along at a smooth, swift pace for just a few moments before he said, "So, tell me, who are these Orcs who tied you to a tree and left you there?"

She sneaked a peek at his face, understanding that Malorion and the others were going to be in deep trouble if she told. She was angry at them, and yet a part of her was also loyal and reluctant to betray them. If she did, would they ever let her play with them again? However, one look at the warden's face told her she could not lie about it.

"My friends did it," she admitted cautiously.

"Rúmil?" he demanded.

"No, not exactly." Sírien slowly stumbled through the tale, making sure to exonerate Rúmil from all wrongdoing. After all, she liked him the best of all of them, for he had always been kind to her, and really was the most fun of all her friends.

The warden was silent during her account, but she sensed that he was angry. Was he angry with her too? She reached up a hand and lifted his hood so she could see him better. His lips seemed tight, and his gray eyes were narrowed and thoughtful.

"It is not Rúmil's fault," she assured him. "Malorion probably tricked him too."

"A warden should not allow himself to be tricked," stated Rúmil's brother, but she caught a trace of amusement in his voice as he added, "You like Rúmil, I see. He is a favorite of yours?"

After a moment's consideration, Sírien admitted to this, but added kindly, "I like you too, even though you are so much older."

"Thank you," he replied, still with that faint quiver in his voice. "I am honored to know that."

Sírien smoothed her fingers over a lock of his hair that had crept out from beneath the hood. "Do you have a wife?" she inquired.

Now she could see his smile, despite the dark. "No, little one, I do not."

"Why not?" she asked curiously.

"I have not found her yet," he said. He didn't exactly sound sad about that, but he didn't sound happy either.

"How can you find her if you do not know who she is?"

He smiled again. "I will know."

Feeling sleepy, Sírien watched the trees slide by like great looming shadows. "She might not be grown up yet, " she said, "that's why you haven't found her."

"You could be right," he admitted. "That would explain it very adequately."

Sírien decided that she liked him a lot. She liked his smile, and his voice, and his kindness. She liked his scent too, and she liked those gray eyes of his, the way he looked at her as though she was not just an elfling but someone important.

"She might be me," she suggested, then was attacked with shyness and hid her face in his shoulder.

This time she could hear the smile in his voice. "You might be right, but you'd have to grow up first. Then again, perhaps you will marry Rúmil."

Sírien could not repress a giggle at the absurd thought. "That's silly," she said.

"Right now it is," he agreed. "But someday things may be different."

Sírien considered this, trying to envision herself as a grown-up. It wasn't easy, but it was even harder to envision Rúmil that way.

She cuddled against him and was quiet for a while, lulled by the comforting sensation of being cradled in such strong arms. The rain had slowed, and when she peeked around her, she noticed they were nearly to the city gates. "You never told me your name," she said, twisting a lock of his wet hair around her fingers.

"Forgive the oversight, milady. I am Haldir. And if I am not mistaken, we are about to be greeted by your parents."

Sírien looked around again, and this time saw that there were people running toward them.

"Sírien, Sírien!" It was her mother's voice.

Within a very short time she had been passed into her mother's arms. "Where have you been?" she scolded as she enfolded her daughter in a fierce embrace.

"Yes, what happened?" demanded her ada. "Where have you been, Sírien?"

Sírien wrapped her arms around her nana and hid her face. "Haldir found me in the forest." She didn't want to talk about the rest of it right now, and her parents must have sensed this for they did not push more questions upon her. That would come later, she knew.

Her mother turned to Haldir, still holding Sírien very tightly. "Thank you! Thank you so much! We were so worried when she did not come home, and none of her playmates knew where she was!"

"I think you will find there is more to the story than that," Sírien heard Haldir reply. "But you are most welcome. I am glad to be able to restore her to you."

Sírien lifted her head and twisted around so she could see him. "Thank you for saving me," she said politely.

Haldir touched his heart. "It was my pleasure, milady."

Sírien reached into her pocket and withdrew the now mashed honey cake. "This is for you," she said solemnly. She held it out to Haldir, who accepted it with a flattering little bow.

"I am honored," he said. "Thank you."

"Don't worry, it will still taste good," she assured him, "even if it doesn't look quite right."

"It looks perfectly delicious, I assure you." His gray eyes held a distinct twinkle.

"And you might wait for me, right?" she asked earnestly. "Just in case?"

Haldir's mouth curved into one of those small smiles she liked so much. "I just might do that," he said gravely.

Then he took her ada aside, and the two spoke quietly while Sírien's mother held her close. "What was that about, darling? What were you saying to the warden?"

"It's a secret," Sírien explained, with a quick glance over her shoulder at Haldir.

"I see," said her mother. Then she smiled too, and to Sírien's relief, did not press her for an explanation.

xxx

Epilogue

"I am sorry, Sírien," Rúmil said humbly. He'd been told to apologize, but he would have done so anyway since he felt very, very badly about what had happened, not to mention stupid for believing Malorion.

"Do not do that again," Sírien replied, frowning at him just a little. She had already forgiven him, but she wanted him to feel guilty for a little while longer, just to be sure he understood how wrong he had been. "Do not EVER do that again!"

"I will not," Rúmil vowed, then saw fit to add, "But I had no idea what they had done to you, you know."

Sírien nodded. "I know. But Malorion was being an Orc anyway, so you should have guessed."

Rúmil hung his head. "I know." His chin came up suddenly. "He lied to us too! He told us he had a new bow, and it was really his older brother's! Arthon was furious when he came in and saw us touching it. Malorion got into SO much trouble! So did Fain!"

Sírien rolled her eyes. "You ellyn are all such twerps!"

"What about my brother?" Rúmil asked slyly. "Is he a twerp too?"

Dismay swept through Sírien. If Rúmil guessed about her secret crush, he would tease her mercilessly forever! "What brother?" she said airily.

Rúmil smirked. "My brother Haldir. You gave him a honey cake, remember?"

"As a _thank you_ gift!" Sírien said hotly. "For _rescuing_ me, Rúmil!"

"Sírien loves Haldir!" Rúmil hooted, then turned and ran away laughing.

Sírien chased after him, unaware that Haldir stood on a balcony nearby, watching them both. And had Sírien seen Haldir's smile, she would very much have approved.

The End

xxx

A/N: For purposes of this story, I ask the reader to assume that buried deep within the Sindarin language exists a word that is comparable to "twerps". I do hope to write more Sírien stories at some point. As I get to know my characters better, I may decide to rework "Crook of her Finger", but for now I will leave it as is. Thanks for reading!


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